She gulped. She pushed the teacup away. ‘Greenhill Court. We’re on the fifth floor. We haven’t got a balcony or anything. I have to go all the way down in the lift to put Karen out in her pram. She’s got to have fresh air. And when she’s there I can’t watch her all the time. I can’t even see her from my lounge on account of it looks out over the car park.’

‘So you put her out in the pram this afternoon,’ said Wexford. ‘What time would that have been?’

‘It was just on two. I put the pram on the grass with the cat net on it, and when I went to fetch it in at half-past four the cat net was still on it and the baby was asleep but it – it wasn’t Karen!’ She made little whimpering noises that exploded in a sob. ‘It wasn’t Karen, it was that baby he’s holding!’

The baby woke up and also began to cry. Loring wrinkled up his nose and shifted his left hand from under its buttocks. His eyes appealed to Polly who nodded and left the room.

‘So what did you do?’ said Wexford.

‘I didn’t even go back upstairs. I got hold of the pram and I pushed it and I started to run and I ran all the way down here to you.’

He was touched by her childish faith. In real or imaginary trouble, at time of fear, she ran to those whom her sheltered small-town upbringing had taught her to trust, the kindly helmeted man in blue, the strong arm of the law. Not for her the grosser cynical image her city-bred contemporaries held of brutal and bribable policemen.

‘Mrs Bond,’ he said, and then, ‘What’s your first name?’

‘Philippa. I’m called Pippa.’

‘Then I’ll call you that if you don’t mind. Describe your baby to me, will you, Pippa? Is she dark or fair? How old is she?’

‘She’s two months old – well, nine weeks. She’s got blue eyes, she’s wearing a white frock.’ The voice broke and trembled again. ‘And she’s got the most beautiful red-gold hair you’ve ever seen!’

Inevitably, Wexford’s eyes went to the child in Loring’s arms whom this description seemed perfectly to fit. He said gently to Pippa Bond, ‘Now you’re quite sure you aren’t imagining all this? No one will be angry if you are, we shall understand. Perhaps you worried or felt a bit guilty about leaving Karen out of your sight for so long, and then when you came down you got a feeling she looked rather different from usual and . . .’

A wail of indignation and misery cut across the rest of what he had to say. The girl began to cry with long tearing sobs. Polly Davies came back, carrying a small square hand towel from the women’s lavatory. She took the baby from Loring, laid it on its back on the table and undid the big safety pin above its navel. Pippa Bond flinched away from the baby as if it were carrying a disease.